Kindness and Cheese
by Morninglight
Summary: Two brothers meet, briefly, over a wheel of cheese. Three years later, one comforts the other's grieving widow.


Note: Gift-fic for a Secret Santa. The original prompt was for funny but this has hopefully wound up to be funny/heartwarming with a bit of sad. May be a touch AU (depends on your interpretation of Alistair's post-recruitment, pre-Ostagar history and I've left the Warden and the outcome of the Landsmeet mostly ambiguous).

…

Alistair goggled at the coin Duncan dropped into his hand. Round and yellow, it gleamed in the early spring sunlight like a wheel of the finest Denerim Gold cheese. His memory of currency involved clipped coppers grimy with sweat and one precious silver coin, casually tipped to him by King Maric when he was eight. (Even though the memory was slightly soured now by the knowledge of who his father was, that silver had been the only gift ever given him and so it was still precious). Now the Warden-Commander of Ferelden had handled him a gold sovereign to 'set himself up with whatever he needed'. The newest Grey Warden looked down at his old armour and the sword belted at his waist, his shield a solid weight on his back. He had food at the compound (with a distressing lack of cheese), a bunk and freedom. What more did he need?

Duncan nodded at him with a smile and turned away to deal with the paperwork sent on from Riordan at Jader. Alistair knew a dismissal when he was given one (and Duncan's was much kinder than the Revered Mother's back at the abbey) and left the tiny room that served as the Warden-Commander's office.

"Alistair!" called out one of his fellow Wardens, a grizzled dwarf named Kherek. "I'm off for a drink with Grigor – join us, lad, and we'll find you a woman too."

"Errr, ah, IhavetosetmyselfupwithwhateverIneedDuncansaid," Alistair blurted, retreating as the former Duster burst out laughing. He… wanted a girl. Just not yet. And he suspected that 'find a woman' probably mean something… dirty.

"Ah, what you need is an Antivan milk sandwich," Kherek quipped.

"…Does it involve cheese?" Because tithes were low and the land still greening after the depths of winter, they'd been living on dried beans and salted meat, usually in the form of stew, and day-old bread from the baker's down the road. Cheese was rare at the moment and Alistair wanted his cheese.

"If you want it to," Kherek assured him with a wicked grin.

Alistair didn't trust that grin. He tossed a salute in the senior Warden's direction and ran for the door. He wanted to be… outside. Because he was blushing. Badly.

He found his way to the market and stared like the Redcliffe boy he was. It wasn't until he felt the tug at his belt that he realised someone had picked his pocket. He hoped they enjoyed the five coppers he kept in there because his gold coin was still in his clenched hand.

It took several questions of "Do you know where I can buy some cheese?" before he was directed to a small shop near Gorim the Dwarf, a new exile from Orzammar. There he was confronted with… the sort of glory that could only found at the Maker's side. Like Kherek or Grigor at the tavern, he threw down his sovereign and said gruffly, "Give me all you can until it runs out."

…

Duncan screwed up the last bit of parchment and threw it in the general direction of the closed door. Immediately someone started pounding on it and the Warden-Commander sighed. With the archdemon awake and a Blight begun, his people were on edge. Captain Kylon's emphatic knocking was all-too-familiar.

When he opened the door, he'd expected to find Gregor or Kherek in chains, not a sick-looking Alistair with bits of cheese in both hands. Captain Kylon stood behind the ill lad, looking both exasperated and amused, and by him was Bann Teagan with more amusement and affection than annoyance on his handsome face.

"I can explain this," Alistair began before he began to heave. Duncan hurriedly got the wooden bucket he used for rubbish and saved his worn Rivaini rug from being puked on.

"Normally that explanation involves alcohol," the Warden-Commander observed with a sigh. "What damage was done and… how much is the fine?"

"Surprisingly little damage," Teagan noted dryly. "Unless we count an entire wheel of Highever Blue cheese."

Duncan felt himself blanch. Highever Blue cheese was… expensive. A wheel of it was worth his entire yearly income. "What happened?" he asked resignedly.

"Well, it all began when I told the cheesemaker to 'Give me all you can until it runs out,' Alistair began and Duncan readied himself for a long and sorry tale.

…

Alistair was in heaven. So many cheeses and no one telling him to stop at one piece. It was more than he could ever dream of.

Then a light, vaguely familiar tenor demanded, "Cheese!"

Alistair looked away from the cheese platter in front of him to stare at the finely clad blond man with an armoured guard. "That's 'Cheese please'," he corrected, mouth full.

"Excuse me?" the nobleman demanded, looking in the Warden's direction as the cheesemaker wheeled out a whole round of Highever Blue.

"That's 'Cheese please'," Alistair insisted. "It's rude to… to… demand. Very rude."

"Don't mind him," the cheesemaker assured the nobleman. "He's a Warden fresh out of the Chantry. Duncan warned me he might come his way."

The nobleman's head swung back to Alistair, pale blue eyes narrowing… then widening in shock. He looked familiar but Alistair was still distracted by the cheese to recall him. "You're… right. Cheese, please."

More sovereigns than Alistair could count exchanged hands as the cheesemaker handed the Highever Blue to the nobleman's guard. Alistair was jealous; his sovereign could have only bought a hand-sized wedge of the stuff.

_But I have manners,_ he thought smugly as he returned to his own cheese platter.

The nobleman sat down at the table across from Alistair, dumping the wheel of cheese with its royal blue veins next to the Warden's platter. "You like cheese too?" he asked.

"Cheese is good," Alistair said with his mouth full, forgetting he was supposed to have better manners than the nobleman.

"Oh yes, cheese is good. Father liked cheese too." The blond nobleman sighed, looking outside the window. Alistair was still trying to place him. "Have you ever tried Highever Blue?"

Alistair swallowed his cheese before laughing bitterly. "That's not for the likes of me."

"The likes of you?"

"A maid's bastard sent to the Chantry because Arlessa Isolde hates me."

"Well, I'm not fond of the Arlessa at times myself," the nobleman observed softly. "So, you're a Grey Warden?"

"Yep. Duncan saved me from the Chantry."

"Wish he'd save _me_," the blond man muttered with a sigh. "I'd love to be a Warden."

"It's great! No more Revered Mothers or Knight-Captains. Not a lot of cheese though at the moment."

"No wonder you're going crazy. Would you like a bit of Highever Blue?"

"A bit? I bet… I bet I could eat the whole wheel."

"Don't be ridiculous! No one could eat a whole wheel."

"A Warden can. Because we can eat a lot."

"That's true. You should see Duncan at the royal feasts. What do you bet?"

"I'll… I'll sneak you in when Duncan's away. You can become a Warden." Alistair had started looking at the nobleman and noticed beneath his satin doublet was a warrior's broad shoulders. Maybe he was a younger son with nothing else to do and an overprotective parent. Maybe he was that Cousland Duncan was talking about recruiting up north. "If I eat the whole wheel… I get a new sword."

"Done!" The nobleman spat into his palm and offered his hand; Alistair, being a country boy, followed suit and they shook. "So start eating."

Alistair did. The first bite was as delicious as he'd imagined: strong and salty and _just right_, smooth but with a bite to it. That encouraged him for the second bite and kept on going even when his mind said he should probably stop just in case he got sick.

Screw getting sick. He'd probably never taste Highever Blue again. He was going to eat it until he passed out.

…

Alistair had finally finished vomiting and was curled up on a cot in what passed for an infirmary, the medic sure that the boy wouldn't die – only want to. Even if the mould in Highever Blue was edible, eating that much couldn't be good for a person.

"He ate the whole wheel," Teagan noted ruefully. "Cailan was both impressed but disappointed."

Duncan could kill Alistair for the bet he'd made. If he'd lost and Cailan put through the Joining – the Warden-Commander shuddered at the Landsmeet's likely reaction. "Thank you for keeping this discreet, Bann Teagan."

"No, Duncan, thank you for saving him from the Chantry." At the Bann's soft voice, Duncan looked up to meet regretful blue eyes. "Alistair deserved a better life. As a Warden, he'll likely have one."

_I condemned Fiona's son to an early grave in the dark,_ Duncan thought regretfully. But the thought of Fiona's boy as a templar sickened him. He only hoped she'd forgive him.

"I see why you were insistent on me being there," he observed instead.

"Yes. I would have preferred Alistair be recognised, but… Well." Teagan refused to elaborate, knowing Duncan understood the intricacies of Landsmeet politics at the moment.

"Yes, well… Is there anything else I need to know?"

Teagan nodded with a sigh. "Don't tell Alistair it was Cailan. The King thinks it might be… kinder."

Duncan nodded, relieved. No need to let Alistair get jealous over his brother. "Of course, Bann Teagan."

The Bann of Rainesferre nodded and made his farewells. When he was gone, Duncan sighed again.

_Ah, my lad. You'll believe all your life you were unwanted and unloved. I wish I could tell you about your mother. You were loved, my lad. Your mother just didn't want you to be as miserable as Maric or a rival to Cailan._

The half-Rivaini made his way to the infirmary and saw a blanket had fallen off the snoring Alistair. With a Warden's constitution he'd be up and about the day after tomorrow. Duncan picked up the blanket and laid it over the lad, swallowing thickly.

_I'll try to be your father as long as I can, lad, I promise. Someone has to be._

…

Three years later…

Denerim was rebuilding slowly after the siege but everywhere he looked, he could still see the scars left by the darkspawn.

Alistair sat down by the cheesemaker's stall and watched the apprentice bring out his usual platter. He came down here weekly, usually in disguise, but most of the people in the Marketplace knew who he was.

Every week since the cheesemaker's reopened he came down for a platter. Everyone tended to assume he was allowing himself one indulgence – the Theirin love of cheeses was renowned – and humoured him. He was a Hero of the Blight, after all.

But one thing they never understood was why he'd order a piece of Highever Blue cheese but never eat it, instead taking it to his brother's small memorial and leaving it there. Perhaps it was a strange way of mourning for his brother. No one questioned him though. Cailan, for all his recklessness, deserved to be grieved.

As always, Alistair followed the same ritual, sitting down before Cailan's small marble statue and watching the pigeons peck at the blue-veined cheese. After Highever's destruction at the hands of Rendon Howe, the cheese had become even rarer and expensive.

"I wish I'd known," he said aloud. "We… We could have… done something. Been brothers. I wish I'd lost the bet. Maybe you'd be alive now."

"Bet?"

Of all the voices he wanted to hear, Anora's was somewhere at the bottom of the list, a couple names away from the archdemon. But being a gentleman, Alistair rose to his feet and offered her the bench. They'd… learned to work with each other, even have a little respect. The problems of the past three years had required it.

"I once bet Cailan that if I could eat a whole wheel of Highever Blue, he'd give me a sword; if I couldn't, I'd sneak him into the Joining so he could become a Warden," Alistair admitted as Anora sat primly on the bench.

The blonde woman pursed her lips. She wore her standard lavender damask gown, though to her credit it was a few years out of date and bore the signs of subtle mending. They'd all been making do since the end of the Blight.

"I understand," she finally observed. "After… Ostagar, I was in shock. Cailan and I had our problems, but he was still my husband."

Alistair looked at her in a new light, wondering if her coldness during the Blight had been an attempt to deal with her own grief. She'd been sidelined on Loghain's return to Denerim, then imprisoned by Rendon Howe, and finally forced to scheme at the Landsmeet. Even before that, she'd borne the burden of governing while Cailan ran around trying to outdo Maric.

"Did you get to cry?" he found himself asking.

"Every night on my pillow," she responded. "And still, it didn't help. Cailan was… quite frankly an idiot."

"I… won't disagree with you there."

"But he was so _alive._ It wasn't just that Theirin charisma. He loved life to the fullest. He was generous, open-hearted and eager…" Anora's smooth voice cracked. "I should have helped him more. Father was so busy trying to make him Maric that he never realised he was his own person. I was so busy trying to be Queen, to prove myself to those sneering Banns that I was as good as them and the best ruler for Ferelden, that I…"

Alistair, much to his surprise, found himself giving her a hug. Anora began to weep, loud and harshly, perhaps letting go of her reserve for the first time in years. Everyone had spent so long rightfully reviling Loghain (or mourning him) that they'd forgotten Anora hadn't not only lost a father, she'd lost a husband.

_No one has given her a bit of kindness, not even me,_ he reflected sadly – and ashamedly. Kindness had made him the man he was today. He'd lost his family, but so had Anora… and after what happened with Goldanna, he realised that Loghain's daughter was likely the only family outside of the Wardens he had remaining.

So he let her weep, as once his brother had listened to him whine while eating Highever Blue, and felt his heart heal a little more. Kindness, as Wynne once said, truly was the best medicine…

_Aside from cheese,_ he thought irreverently, imagining the old mage roll her eyes. And for a moment, he remembered his brother, golden and shining, greeting Duncan and the man's last recruit with a grin.

_You will be remembered,_ Alistair vowed silently as Anora stepped away, wiping at her face with a mortified expression. _All of you._

…He just needed to remember what their favourite cheeses were. He had to do it right, after all.

And above them the sun shone, round and yellow as a wheel of Denerim Gold.


End file.
